The wrong crowd
by shortpeopleproblems
Summary: Lindsey Langford is perfect. Perfect grades, perfect looks, and has at least 15 activities a week. Is she just naturally perfect? Or is there more behind the reason that she's prefect? T for some swearing and I always rate my books T :)


My life was simple enough. I had perfect grades, a 4.0 to be precise. I went to my dream school, and my friends were all the "good kids". They never smoked or drank, and they all had perfect grades just like me. I had literally 15 activities a week, and I was the star of my basketball team, my soccer team, my softball team, and my swim team.

I danced, I was president of the 11th grade at St. Jane's school for the gifted, I was a tutor for lower school-ers, I worked at our local library on Saturday, I participated in community service, I started and ran an organization to help underprivileged children, I played piano, violin and sang for the Madrigals chorus program at my school... the list goes on and on. Not to mention I had the perfect boyfriend, Josh, and everyone knew that we were going to get married when we were older. My parents loved Josh too, which was good. And almost every guy in the class had a crush on me, and rightfully so. My tall lean figure that I maintained by going to my personal trainer every day after school. My long blonde hair generally stayed in a high ponytail or down loose. Josh always said that his favorite part about me were my memorizing blue-grey eyes.

Like I said, every boy in my grade was crushing on me. All of them except for one. That one boy was Jules LaRue. Dark and mysterious, he really kept to himself. Unless he saw something that we wanted. And when he saw something that he wanted, he got it, instantly. His dark brown hair and big dark eyes made him attractive, but the worn jeans and leather jacket made him seem dangerous and unapproachable.

I was the lead in the school musical, and every day this week I had been the last one to leave school. I just got my driver's license, so I've been taking my brand-new Chrysler to and from school. Another long day was coming to a close as I walked down the hall past all of the classrooms and lockers, heading for the exit when I felt like I was being followed. I whipped around, but no one was there. I shook off the feeling, probably just that I'm so used to having guys stare at my ass as they walk behind me. I kept going, but felt it again and quickly twirled around. Still no one. I shuddered and walked a little bit faster.

Suddenly I felt someone sidle up behind me and put one hand around my mouth and the other around my waist. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. A cool deep voice whispered in my ear "C'mon don't struggle. I won't hurt you, honest. I just want you to meet my friends." Well of course I didn't listen to him and put up a fight. Punching and kicking and flailing. I felt a hand come down hard on a pressure point on my shoulder, I saw stars, and the next thing I knew I was falling, falling, falling...black. Dark.

Right before I passed out, I remembered who the familiar deep voice belonged to. Jules LaRue. When I came to, we were in a giant warehouse. But it was warm and spacious. There was a skylight, and directly below it was a deep, dark, serene pool.

There were bunk beds to the left, and one entire wall (this was the truly terrifying part) was covered in torture devices. I was slumped against a support pole with my hands cuffed around the pole and behind my back. I heard murmured voices. I moaned and tried to pull myself into a more comfortable position. Suddenly the voices stopped and I heard footsteps. Jules came into view and appeared above me. "Bout time you woke up." He said.

"What the heck is going on here?!" I demanded.

"We the gang as we call ourselves, came to an executive decision earlier this week that you are meant to be one of us. So you have two choices. One, to pass the swimming test and become one of us, or don't pass the test and die."

"I don't want to be one of you!" I told him.

"Too late for that now." he clucked. "Either you die, or you're one of us."

"And what kind of swim test is this, exactly?"

"Oh nothing much, really. Just that we tie weights to your feet and sink you to the bottom of the pool. If you can figure how to get out, it means that you are one of us and you get to live. If you don't, then too bad for you."

"You're crazy!" I shrieked.

"Tammy!" he called to someone in the darkness. "Check her for weapons or anything that might get ruined during her swim." A girl I recognized from my class as Tamara Jennings. As she crept out of the shadows, Jules receded into them. "Call me when you're done." Jules said.

Tamara stripped me down to nothing but my paper-thin pink tank top and my itty-bitty shorts. I stood there, feeling quite nude. She had taken everything out of my pockets including my iPhone, my wristlet and all my credit cards, and the pack of my favorite gum.


End file.
